


Endure, Withstand, Rebuild

by Peps4lyfe



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Tony Stark, Rape Recovery, Slow Burn, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peps4lyfe/pseuds/Peps4lyfe
Summary: After suffering from a traumatic event at the Avengers Tower, Peter Parker tries to find his footing again by rebuilding his relationship with Tony Stark, learning how to love others and himself, and gaining his confidence back to become Spider-Man once again.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	Endure, Withstand, Rebuild

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This story focuses on Peter's journey of recovery following a traumatic assault, and how these events have impacted his relationship with Tony and as Spider-Man. This is a very different take on Tony and Peter's relationship that I've ever written before. Thought it's strained at first, it's not anti-Tony. Rather, it explores how Peter and Tony will move forward from trauma. 
> 
> Please note, the timeline doesn't perfectly line up with the MCU, but there'll be explanations throughout the story (and at the end for further clarification).
> 
> WARNING: this story contains descriptions of rape. This chapter specifically addresses how this trauma has impacted Peter, so please be wary when reading.

Chapter One: Where has Spider-Man Gone?

“WHERE HAS SPIDER-MAN GONE?” reads in bold letters across the front page of the newspaper.

Peter stills where he’s at, standing dumbly in the middle of Mr. Delmar’s bodega, eyes transfixed on the article in front of him. His sight drops to the picture right below the headline. It’s a photo of Spider-Man in the gleaming red and blue suit he had his sophomore year of high school. _Feels like a lifetime ago._ In the photo, Peter’s left arm is stretched forward, gripping a taut web that’s meant to carry him from building to building. He feels numb as he stands in the bodega, the loud noise of customers going about their business fading, as it suddenly feels like there is nothing else in the room beside Peter and that photo. 

“Hey kid, are you going to order anything?” comes Delmar’s voice. He’s an older man, a deep natural tan that comes from his Dominican heritage. His salt and peppered hair is combed back elegantly, the moustache and beard equally well groomed. Donned in his everyday style of polos and necklaces, Delmar’s large brown eyes are peering at Peter with slight curiosity. 

It takes a second for Peter to gather his bearings, realizing that there’s a line forming behind him. “Uh, sorry,” he stammers out. He doesn’t bring himself to read whatever words follow the headline. The last thing Peter needs to know about is what New York has been suffering through for the past month. That level of guilt doesn’t need to be brought to Peter’s conscience. How many people have died? Have crime rates shot up? Is Queens _suffering_ because of Peter’s decisions—

“Kid, number 5, right?” Delmar prompts again, sounding more impatient than he had before. How long had Mr. Delmar been trying to get Peter’s attention?

Peter only manages a pathetic jerk of his head. “Yeah.”

“Extra pickles,” Delmar says, very matter-of-factly. Peter frequents this place almost every single day after school that he basically doesn’t need to order anymore. “You okay, kid?” The man asks as he rings up Peter’s order. “You’ve been really distracted the past couple weeks.”

Peter stays silent. This isn’t the first time he’s heard that statement. Aunt May notices the way that Peter has been neglecting his chores. Dishes pile up on top of more dirty dishes. His bed remains unmade. Some nights, he doesn’t even leave his room. His teachers say it too, in passing a lot and not realizing how much it bothers him when they say it. _Why aren’t you answering more questions? You used to be so invested in your work!_

Peter realizes that his hands are shaking, and his teeth are clenched so hard, they’re grinding against one another. “I’m tired,” Peter dismisses, throwing a couple crumpled up dollar bills on the counter and snagging the sandwich.

“Do you want the newspaper?”

Peter blinks. It takes a second for his brain to register that Mr. Delmar is asking him the question. “What?”

“You’ve been staring at the newspaper the whole time we’ve been talking,” Mr. Delmar says. “If you want it, you can just take it. On the house.”

Peter shakes his head. “No,” he says, bluntly. “Gotta go.” He turns his back on Delmar, noticing that the other patrons of the bodega lined up behind him are staring. Peter can feel the words _what the hell are you looking at_ reaching the back of his throat, but he swallows back any anger and spits out a curt “sorry.” There’s a murmur from the customers behind him, but Peter doesn’t bother to hear what the other customers or what Mr. Delmar has to say. He throws the glass door open and bursts into the New York street.

Outside, the air hits Peter in a mix of gasoline from the cars and whatever Asian food the nearest food truck is selling. People are crawling all over the streets. And it makes Peter’s stomach twist up in this horrible knot. It feels like his brain is detached from his movements, a puppeteer moving Peter forward rather than at his own volition. He turns to the right, snaking his way past an older man in a suit, talking fervently into his phone. The man beside Peter is clearly lost in whatever conversation he’s having, but Peter’s eyes can’t stop from staring at the person beside him. _They won’t hurt you they don’t even notice that you’re there they’re stuck in their own worlds._

Peter is so lost in thought that his eyes fail to register the fact that he’s about to walk straight into the road. It’s the spider-senses that keep him from doing so. That’s what he calls whatever instincts he has been developing ever since becoming Spider-Man his freshman year. At first, these senses seemed like nothing more than chills running down his back if he saw something that looked sketch. Time passed and Peter’s ability as Spider-Man quickly and rapidly improved. His sophomore year, fighting off Adrian Toomes served as a trigger to these more intense feelings that he got whenever there was someone that he shouldn’t trust or whenever something was about to happen. This tingling sensation shoots up his back and electrifies the base of his head. And his body just _moves._ It’s pretty spectacular and saved his butt a few times, too.

The senses have been acting up a lot, though. Crowded areas. Small spaces. Anytime Peter puts on that Spider-Man suit. It all triggers his senses to think that there’s a threat coming. It’s hard for Peter to pick apart the stimuli. Sometimes, there really is a threat: a person is about to steal someone’s purse or someone on a bike is about to knock into a kid walking down the street. Other times… it’s just Peter’s brain tricking him into thinking that something is wrong when it isn’t. He doesn’t want the spider-senses to go away, though… not when it feels as though his instincts are the only piece of Spider-Man that Peter has left. His thoughts drag him into these long periods of endless distraction to the point of where Peter blocks everything out around him, and it’s the spider-senses that drag him back up. 

It’s exactly what happens now. The spider-senses force Peter’s whole body back onto the pavement. A car goes honking past him.

“Are you okay?” a woman asks him. 

“Fine,” Peter mumbles.

The woman’s friend, this tall blonde woman wearing a massive black hat, rolls her eyes. “Maybe next time pay attention. _Teenagers_ ,” she whispers under her breath.

It bites deep. Deeper than it should have. _If he had just been paying attention… if Tony had just been paying attention…_ He stops himself again. Now’s not the time. When the light to cross the street turns green, Peter blows past the two women and scrambles to his apartment.

His home is nothing special. Just a brick building in a mass of other brick buildings that makes up every apartment on his block. Plenty of vines wrapping themselves up the walls. A green awning right above the front door with a huge sign out front that says _apartment listings available._ Peter meanders up the stairs and punches in the code to unlock the front door. He lives on the seventh floor, but Peter bypasses the elevator and speeds up the stairs, taking two at a time. Once he gets to his floor, he comes to a skidding halt to keep himself from running through the halls, too. Though Peter has lived here since he was five years old, he doesn’t mingle much with the neighbors. There’s an older couple. The Johnson’s or something. And a family of five on his left. They’re pretty loud, and Peter swears that their newest born baby shares his wall because every time he comes home from rounds, he always hears the faintest of cries.

 _Used to_ come home from rounds, his brain corrects.

Peter unlocks the front door to his apartment, tossing his backpack onto the floor along with his shoes and hooking the key onto the key rack by the door. May works full-time at a bank and spends a lot of her free time on weekends volunteering with the Salvation Army, which means that they can’t afford much, but she’s managed to turn their home of over ten years into a quaint, tidy, and eclectic space. Colorful rugs over water-stained wood floors. Faded green cabinets. Mismatching bright red and pink furniture. A whole wall full of books that Peter doesn’t think May had ever read before (Uncle Ben, who passed away when Peter was ten, was more of the reader). And lots and lots of Peter’s artwork from when he was younger. All those silly watercolor paintings or clay sculptures he had to make when he was a kid now fill the empty spaces. It’s sweet, when Peter thinks about it, that May had kept all his stuff. He’s older now and in his junior year of high school, so what used to be watercolor paintings have turned in to whatever tinkering he would do during shop class… when he was actually paying attention in class. May was even tempted to put up the original Spider-Man suit Peter built, this godawful pajama set that Peter had fished out from a stuffed rack at Goodwill; that idea was immediately put to bed, though.

May’s home. She’s at the kitchen table, skimming though something on her computer. Her red-rimmed glasses are falling down her nose as she stares at her screen, looking as though she’s seconds away from falling asleep. When the front door closes behind Peter, she looks up immediately, pushing the glasses back to fit comfortably in front of her dark brown eyes. Her thick brown hair flows down her back, strung together in a loose braid. She’s beautiful. As everyone says about her. And she’s got the brightest smile that brings more comfort to Peter than he’s able to admit. It’s warm and welcoming, too, which Peter needs.

Judging by the stacks of documents surrounding her, Peter guesses she’s been working from home. She’s been doing a lot lately. And volunteering far less, too. Peter hates it—well, Peter doesn’t hate the fact that he gets to spend more time with May. He hates the fact that she’s putting her life on hold for him. And it’s been affecting their relationship, too. Sometimes, it feels like she’s smothering him. Every second it’s something else. _What did you learn in school today? Do you want anything to eat? How are you feeling today?_ She’s been so different ever since… Peter stops himself.

“How was school today?” May says. She gets up from her seat and moves toward Peter. It looks like she’s reaching forward to hug him, but she restrains herself. That’s another thing, too. She can hardly even look Peter in the eye, let alone give him a pat on the back. That hesitation leaves a bitter taste in Peter’s mouth that’s instantly met with guilt, too. _He shouldn’t be mad at her. It isn’t her fault. None of this is her fault._

He’s put her at ease. “It’s okay,” he mumbles. May knows what he’s referring to and she cautiously puts her arms around him. She keeps plenty of space between their chests. Hardly even touches him save for the light press of her arms against his back. Whatever anxiety he feels at any physical contact builds up in his chest, but he pushes that pain away. “School was… fine,” he says once she lets go.

“Good.”

“How was work?”

May glanced at the computer and mess of papers. “Work was… fine.” She drops her eye contact, and Peter’s feels a spasm of guilt. It shouldn’t be difficult to have a simple conversation with May—she loved Peter more than anything in the world. 

When Peter was five years old, his parents were killed in a car accident. Standing tall through the pain was Aunt May and Uncle Ben, Peter’s godparents, who graciously and without any hesitation took Peter into their lives and never looked back. Held him through heartache. Promised him a happier life. Gave him absolutely everything that he needed to feel safe. They were the perfect family that Peter wanted his whole life. This perfect picture of a family didn’t last, though. Five years later, when Peter fooled himself into thinking that all the pain and grief was behind him, his world was ripped apart again. Uncle Ben had been murdered in a carjacking and mugging. Watching May crumble beneath the pain quadrupled the Peter’s grief and pain of trying to process Ben’s death. But it pushed May and Peter together and solidified their relationship. They promised to be there for each other forever. _Family first._ He was all she had, and she was all he had.

“Are you hungry?” May asks. Her voice is like a sharp needle poking at his skin and immediately pulls back his attention. Slipping into his thoughts happen a lot. Especially at school when teachers lecture on and on, and there really isn't anything else for Peter to do but think. Thankfully, May is patient. She asks again. “Are you hungry? I can make you something.” She pulls open the fridge and starts pulling out carrots and cheese and frozen burritos. “Just went grocery shopping. What sounds good to you?”

Peter shrugs. “Whatever you want to make.” 

May ends up making a smorgasbord: carrots with ranch, crackers, two different types of cheese, olives, and pretzels. Peter isn’t really that hungry, but he’s hoping that food might curb the migraines he’s been getting ever since his spider-senses started acting up, which is now almost anytime Peter is in a situation even remotely anxiety-provoking. So, he sits down in the chair beside May, pulls out some of his homework and the two of them eat silently and do their work. He’s sifting through a page of calculus homework that he would have loved doing at the start of this year. 

In his backpack beside him, Peter’s acute senses hears the vibrating of his cellphone in the front pocket. It’s Tony. _Again._ As if the ignored messages weren’t enough to send the message that Peter didn’t want to speak with him. Peter slips the phone back in the front pocket and tries to return to his homework, but the vibrating continues. “You should probably answer that,” May says, gently. She knows that Peter and Tony are in a difficult place right now, so she doesn’t want to push it. “He cares about you. You should—”

“Okay,” Peter interrupts. He knew how callous he just sounded, so Peter backtracked. “Okay,” he says again, much softer than before. “I’ll talk to him.”

He unlocks his cellphone and looks at the unanswered messages from Tony today. There’s five. He skips past the pleasantries. Ignores the ones where Tony wishes Peter a good day at school and good luck on the math test he had the other day. He stops on the last message. _Come to the Tower tonight. We’ll go on rounds together._ Peter’s tempted to cuss Tony out on the spot, but the little voice in his reminding Peter that Tony just feels guilty and just wants to make sure that Peter’s okay _(which is frustrating and stupid because if Tony wanted to make sure Peter was okay he would have done something before everything fell apart)._ Swallowing back his anger, Peter responds with a quick << _be there at 9 tonight >> _and then puts his phone back in his bag. “He wants me to go to the Avengers Compound,” Peter says.

Mays nods. “Okay,” she says. If this had been Peter’s sophomore year after she found about that he was Spider-Man, and _what_ a disaster that was when she just so happened to be standing outside of Peter’s door while he was in the suit, she would shut down that idea real quick. She _cares_ about Peter so much, so when May found out that he would sneak out every night and chase after criminals, she was beyond angry with him. That’s all different now. She doesn’t push anymore. She knows how much Peter needs independence. 

“I don’t want to,” Peter finally says.

For a second, May appraises her nephew’s expression. “Tony misses you, Peter,” she attempts.

“I know,” Peter whispers.

“And wants to see you,” May says. She pushes the computer away from her and turns fully to face Peter. “He called today. He’s upset.”

“What does he have to be upset about?” Peter grumbles. “It wasn’t like anything happened to him. It wasn’t like he was the one who got—” He stops himself. Swallows hard. Memories come flooding to the surface and it takes all of Peter’s will to push those memories back down below the surface. Sitting across from May at the dinner table isn’t the time nor the place to process that kind of trauma.

“He just wants to make sure you’re okay,” May attempts again.

Peter can’t take it anymore. He submits. “Okay. _Okay,”_ he yells. He doesn’t mean to be so angry and it’s not even registering in his mind that he just shouted at his aunt. Peter responds to Tony’s message with a quick _< <See you at 9pm>>, _fervently hitting each letter on his phone’s keyboard as though those little squares were what hurt him.There’s a surge of fear that quells in Peter’s chest because he has to the go back to the Avengers Tower. He has to face the place where the trauma occurred. Where his heart and courage and dignity were picked apart piece by piece.

May’s response is nothing but a meek smile. “Okay… I know it’ll mean a lot to him,” she says.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he mutters, slipping his phone back into his backpack.

She shrugs, though clearly Peter’s anger is gnawing at her. “It’s okay.”

Peter shakes his head. “It’s not. What happened isn’t an excuse for me to treat you like this.”

May grimaces. “You can’t be so hard on yourself, baby. You went through something traumatic. You’re a victim—”

Peter’s blood boils. The words come out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “ _Don’t_ call me that. I’m not—I hate that word,” he stammers out as he scrambles to throw his homework back into his backpack. Anger swells from the pit of Peter’s chest, propelling him out of the kitchen chair and toward his bedroom. There’s a glimmer of guilt deep within Peter that’s telling him to go back to Aunt May because he knows she loves him and he knows that his pain is manifesting itself in misplaced anger, but he’s too upset. He knows she’s right. Peter _is_ a victim. Peter _is_ suffering from PTSD. Nightmares. Trauma. Anxiety. It’s all there and it’s all because of what Obadiah Stane did to Peter.

 _Rape victim. Sexual assault victim._ God, he feels like a statistic hearing those words and he just wants to put his fist through a wall. Peter slams the door behind him so violently the pictures hanging on his bedroom wall shake. Though it feels like the blood is pounding in his ears and his heart is throbbing so violently it sounds like the percussion section of the pep band, he can still hear the faint sound of May weeping.

And Peter hates himself for that. That’s _his_ fault. His aunt is crying because of him. And it breaks his heart.

 _I should have been stronger._

* * *

The Spider-Man suit is exactly where Peter left it. There’s a little latch at the top of Peter’s closet, which he built his freshman year in case May went put his clothes away for him (it was around the same time that Peter insisted on doing his own laundry, which should have warranted some suspicion in the first place). He yanks hard on the latch. Out tumbles the Spider-Man suit, which Peter awkwardly manages to catch in his hands. He feels the stretchy, soft fabric beneath his fingers. Stares at the slits in the mask. And for a second, it feels like the slits are staring back at him. Like the suit is a manifestation of what Peter once was and it’s staring back at him with disappointment. 

Peter’s tempted to put the suit on. Fly through the streets of New York to Manhattan where the Avengers’ Tower is like he did all of last year. This isn’t the time, though, and Peter doesn’t feel any semblance of strength or confidence to make his way to the Tower. Instead, Peter stuffs the Spider-Man suit into his backpack, texts Tony that he’s going to be a little late and is on his way. The light in the living room is still on, the faintest sound of the TV playing in the background. May is sprawled across the couch in the living room, head resting on the arm of the couch, legs bent in a funny direction. _The Bachelor_ is playing quietly on the TV. Peter pulls the quilt off the back of the couch to cast it over her. She stirs, blinking a few times until she’s fully awake and gazing up at her nephew.

“Hi,” she manages through a yawn.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Peter mumbles. He’s still fixing the blanket over top her.

“No. It’s okay,” May says. “I’m glad you did. I would’ve wanted to say goodbye.”

“I know.” Peter leans forward to kiss May’s forehead. “I’m sorry for yelling at you before.” Sorry doesn’t mean anything, but it’s worth saying, anyway.

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I love you more than anything in the world. You know that, right?”

Peter nods. “Yeah. I know.”

“Be careful tonight. Please?” May asks.

“Always am,” Peter says, though that isn’t completely true. 

Peter kisses May on the forehead again and is off to the streets outside. Rather than using the Spider-Man suit, Peter opts for a much more common mode of transportation: a taxi. It’s pretty expensive, but Peter has enough money on his debit card to get to the Avenger’s compound (getting back would be an issue that he’ll have to deal with later). Too paranoid to think reasonably, Peter gives the address of some grocery store a block from where the compound is. The taxi driver, immediately recognizing how far this place is and the cost of it, appraises Peter. “You got this kind of money on you, kid? I’m not running a charity.”

“Yeah.” Peter flashes the debit card. For a second, he’s worried that the cab driver will turn him away, but this is New York. The cab driver puts the car in drive and moves along. There’s a hint of anxiety threatening to come to surface that entails being alone in this cramped space with the driver up front, but Peter pushes down all those feelings. When the taxi driver pulls up to the grocery store, Peter swipes his debit card and is on his way. It’s still plenty lively outside. Cars are still out and about, and there are plenty of people walking around. 

Peter pays no attention to them, mind narrowing on the path to the Avengers’ Tower. He’s there in a matter of minutes. It’s this expansive, _massive_ building with a glaring bright symbol at the very top of the tower: the stylish, circled A for the Avengers. The Tower positively glows in the dark of the night. The modern design of the building and the fact that it literally houses superheroes makes this place a hot tourist commodity. There are people lining up and down the street, phones raised to snap pictures of the building. He sneaks through the crowd and sprints across the street to the Tower. Thankfully, visiting hours are over for the public so once Peter is at the front door and after entering the 16-digit code, he’s inside and there’s no one there to bother him. He speeds through the lobby, bypasses the elevator, and goes straight to the stairs. It’s thirteen floors up, which means that Peter has a long way to go.

Peter doesn’t spend tons of time with the Avengers; they’re so busy doing missions around the world and he’s nothing more than just Tony Stark’s protégé, so their paths hardly cross. But when Peter was with them, it was some of the best memories he’s had. Peter was just fourteen, right at the start of high school, when he got the Spider-Man powers. It was at a field trip to Oscorps Headquarters at the start of school and he got bit by this radioactive spider. He was never a fan of those little eight-legged creatures, but even Peter will admit he has to thank the spider for giving him these powers. A few months later (and after doing plenty of dumb, dangerous stunts to keep New York safe—and for the views on YouTube), there was a knock on his door. _The_ Tony Stark of the Avengers team, the same team that saved New York from _aliens_ and fought off evil robots in Sokovia, literally stopping Ultron from turning that poor country in a world-annihilating meteor, was standing right outside his front door. There had been concern in the intelligence community about the masked vigilante (not SHIELD because Captain America destroyed them, so Peter suspects the CIA— _very cool_ but pretty intimidating); they sent the Avengers to look into it.

Even with all of Peter’s precautions set in place to keep his identity a secret, nothing could be beat Tony’s ability to hack into security cameras and track Spider-Man’s movements. Thinking that Tony was going to take the suit away, Peter was surprised and _thrilled_ to find out that the face of the Avengers was going to take Peter under his wing. _The_ Captain America, the one that does all those silly education curriculum videos that Midtown plays, and Natasha Romanoff, a total badass spy, were apprehensive to bring on a fourteen-year-old kid to the team, even if it was only for training purposes. But everyone warmed up to Peter. He once spent an entire weekend with the whole Avengers team, doing nothing but sitting in awe as they shared old war stories, all trying to one-up each other. 

Steve Rogers was a virtuous as the history books claims. Sam Wilson and Clint Barton were just as funny as all the interviews suggested. Natasha and Wanda Maximoff equally intimidating. And Vision positively confusing. But the Avengers weren’t meant to be cooped up in this tower. They all drifted apart, going their separate ways under the pretense that if the world ever needed them, they’d come back. Steve shared a place in Brooklyn with Sam; Natasha apparently went to Russia for some ‘soul-searching’ as she described it; and Wanda and Vision traveled to Europe. Clint was almost _never_ around, something about a family and an early retirement. Every now and then, they’ll drift back into the compound to see old friends or if they’re between places to stay, but at the end of everything, it was normally just Peter and Tony.

The Iron-Man fanatic that Peter Parker had been his whole life didn’t mind getting all that extra time with Tony Stark. And Tony didn’t seem to mind, either. Tony trained Peter. Built him a new suit. Treated him as though he’s the son that Tony never had. To explain why Peter spent so much time at the Tower, they created a cover story that Peter was the new intern for Stark Industries, the company Tony’s wife, Pepper Potts ran. No one questioned why Tony Stark was spending so much time with this teenager. They went to dinner together. Visited museums. Explored upstate New York and went to all the touristy attractions that May and Ben could hardly afford to take Peter to. The gaping hole that was ripped open and deepened by the loss of Peter’s father and Uncle Ben was slowly being mended. Tony could never replace Peter’s family, but he came close. 

Everything’s different now, of course. And Peter hates it. And feels guilty about it, but, for some reason, can’t find it in himself to feel any different. Word about what Obadiah Stane had done spread around New York and amongst the Avengers team. Peter’s far caught up in his own self-hatred that he can’t bear to face anyone other than Tony, so he’s been avoiding the Compound for the past few weeks. He hasn’t seen a single Avenger yet since the news broke.

Thirteen floors later, Peter’s body screaming for a break despite that fact that he’s enhanced by the spider-bite, he staggers into the Compound. It’s exactly as he remembers. He walks into the living room that’s decorated with commissioned artwork, pristine and practically untouched looking cream sofas, a grand piano and an open bar. This was his favorite place in the compound when Peter more regularly frequented it. He remembers stretching himself across the love seat and listening intently to Natasha and Clint bicker back and forth about who’s a better shot while Steve choppily works his way through Mozart on the grand piano. Tony would be perched in the Barcalounger, throwing in his own quips with Natasha and Clint about how his repulsors made their weapons look like Nerf Guns.

All those fun moments are gone, along with the rest of the Avengers who are doing who knows what around the world. It’s just Tony, standing still by the windows looking at the streets below. Peter’s mentor turns on his penny loafers to look Peter in the eye. Peter’s trauma (and his own internalized anger that he can’t quite seem to get a handle on) aside, Tony Stark is a good person and deserves to be treated as such. He’s made plenty of mistakes and hurt lots of people in the process, but every step Tony takes is an attempt to rectify whatever damage he’s caused in the past. He’s abolished all weapon manufacturing that his company does, an action not well-liked by his board, but they submitted to Tony’s request eventually. Stark Industries now focus on creating clean and sustainable energy through his Arc Reactor programs, provide platforms for local businesses and small-name inventors, and run multiple foundations to continue to provide opportunities to young minds so that they can change the world. Tony by no means runs the company, time occupied with financing and building the Avengers brand.

Even after being dubbed the leader of the Avengers and protector of Earth so lovingly by the media, Tony’s been pulling away from holding that mantle ever since Sokovia. There’s still plenty of news outlets speculating on what Tony’s takedown of Whiplash and Justin Hammer has done to the weapons manufacturing industry, and plenty of intelligence communities are working to deal with the aftermath of Tony’s dismantling of the Advanced Idea Mechanics criminal organization. Tony doesn’t concern himself with that, anymore. He still has Iron Man suits ready to go in case the Earth needs protecting, but his priorities are shifting. When he isn’t kicking ass with the Avengers team to combat a global threat (which thankfully hasn’t happened in the past year), Tony’s at the Tower, investing time in himself for once and fulfilling the ‘normal’ relationship that he and Pepper Potts had been wishing they could have. Peter isn’t even sure when Tony had suited up in the Iron-Man last, except for when Peter’s ass needed saving after almost sinking the Staten Island Ferry.

“Hey kid,” Tony says through a breathy sigh of a relief. He strides toward Peter and looks as though he’s tempted to give Peter a hug. Tony stops, just as May did, but this time Peter doesn’t consent to the contact. Tony doesn’t push it. “Why don’t you sit down? Do you want some water?”

It doesn’t settle well with Peter that Tony’s catering to Peter’s every whim but walking up 13 flights of stairs hits Peter harder than expected. So, Peter submits. “Water would be great,” he mumbles, taking a seat on the nearest sofa.

Tony moves to open bar, which has a water dispenser. In the meantime, Peter’s eyes trail to the staircase leading to the upper floor. It’s a computer lab—the same one where Bruce Banner and Tony Stark created Ultron (and the Vision). Though Peter can’t see clearly from where he’s standing, it looks empty and judging by the fact that Peter can still distinctly hear a hum of cars and noise from the streets below, that confirms his belief that right now, it’s just him and Tony. There’s a tiny part of him that’s afraid of being alone with Tony, but Peter suppresses.

“How have you been?” Tony asks as he sets the glass of water in front of Peter. Tony doesn’t dare to sit right beside Peter on the same sofa, settling for a couch across from him. Now that Peter can see him up close, the bags under Tony’s eyes and the somewhat disheveled appearance of his normally clean-cut hair and goatee are a good indicator that Tony hasn’t been handling the past weeks well, either.

Peter drinks quickly to keep himself from having to respond right away. “Okay,” Peter says. “As good as I can be, I guess.”

Tony nods. “Glad to hear that,” he says. “May told me that you’ve been sleeping a little better the past couple weeks.”

Peter bits his lip. That’s not true at all. Peter spends most of his nights drifting in and out of nightmares. The only difference between now and a few weeks ago is that Peter’s trained himself not to wake up screaming, anymore. Now, he jerks awake at night, only to cover his mouth to stifle his cries. He doesn’t want May to know how messed up he is, and that surely extends to Tony, too. He lies. “Yeah. A little better, at least.”

“Good. That’s really good to hear,” Tony says through a sigh of relief. 

“Where’s Pepper?” Peter asks to avoid dwelling too much on that lie.

“Out in Los Angeles trying to smooth things over with some stakeholders,” Tony explains. 

That’s another part of this mess that Peter feels completely and utterly at fault for. After Tony stepped down as CEO, Obadiah Stane took over that mantle. He’s a shit person through and through and deserves to rot in prison, but at the very least ( _absolute_ very least), he had enough of a backbone to support Tony when he announced that Stark Industries would cease manufacturing weapons. Stane fended off the stakeholders and publicity mess until everything was sorted out, and the company could start to make head-to-toe changes. He and Pepper split up the responsibilities of running such a massive enterprise. Now that he’s gone, appropriately so, all the work that Stane had taken on was being shoveled onto Pepper’s back. She’s now the full-time CEO and the face of the company with no one else but Tony to turn to for extra support. She’s handling it well. Of course. Pepper’s one of the most poised, consistent, and driven person Peter knows, but it’s time-consuming running the company so Pepper hasn’t been around much.

In short, the company had gone to hell right alongside Peter’s life.

“Oh,” Peter mutters. “When does she get back?”

“Couple days if all the meetings work out,” Tony says. 

That’s a mad-sized if, and Peter knows that. There’s a lot of stakeholders, investors and workers for Stark Industries resigning. After all, no one wants to be part of a company in which the CEO was just caught taking advantage of one of the young, teenage interns.

After a beat, Tony pulls something out of his jacket pocket and slides it toward Peter. It’s a business card. Underneath the title of _Dr. Serena Jackson, PHD Psychology_ is her phone number and address to her office spelled out in sleek navy-blue lettering. Scribbled on the side in Tony’s messy handwriting is ‘Mondays, 4pm.’ “I got everything figured out for your appointment. Don’t worry about payments or anything. I’m taking care of all of it. May already knows, too. I’ve met Dr. Jackson before. She’s great. And she’s well-versed in the superhero world, so you don’t need to hold back on what you share with her.”

Twisted disgust builds in Peter’s throat. _Therapy. Psychologist._ Peter’s aware that there’s nothing wrong with getting therapy and that asking for help is really important, especially when you’re trying to handle something so over your heard, but damn did it make Peter feel pathetic inside. He’s supposed to be a superhero and he can’t even handle his own mind right now. Tony paying for everything makes things worse. Peter _should_ be grateful because May’s health insurance and whatever extra money she has wouldn’t nearly be enough to cover the therapy that Peter needs, but all Peter can think about is how much Tony is overcompensating for what happened. It’s this weird mess of thinking that Tony damn well _should_ be overcompensating and tons of guilt because _it’s not Tony’s fault none of it is Tony’s fault._

“Thanks,” Peter says, pocketing the card. His head _kills_ from the headache setting in.

“Asking for help can be really intimidating—”

“I need it,” Peter says quickly to end that line of conversation. Silence settles in again, and it’s more uncomfortable than it should be. To change the subject, Peter yanks his backpack in front of him. “I’m going to change. We can try to do rounds tonight.” He tries not to put too much sarcastic emphasis on the word _try_ as Peter gathers himself up and goes to the bathroom. 

Now standing inside this ridiculously elegant half bathroom complete with a stone, antique sink, gold handles and plush towels, Peter changes into the Spider-Man suit quickly. Once he’s all dressed, he takes a long look at himself in the mirror. He looks the same as he did when he first became Spider-Man. Sure, he’s lost some of the baby fat in his cheeks and his muscles have swelled up a lot, a natural response that comes from physically exerting himself the way he does as Spider-Man. His brown hair is the same messy mop that settles onto his head. Whatever radioactive concoction injected into him after the spider-bite, it keeps his face clean of scars. The eyes are still dark brown, piercing back at him in disbelief that he could still look so _normal_. Even a little charming if he dares to admit to himself. But underneath the surface, the scars run deep. Deeper than any mirror could capture. Bitterly, Peter slides the mask over his face.

“Hello Peter,” greets his AI, Karen, as all the tech equipment embedded in the suit’s mainframe activates.

“Hey, Suit Lady,” Peter jokes. It’s weird, saying that he cracks jokes (or attempts to) with the AI in his suit. But sometimes, it feels like this AI is the only thing ( _person?)_ that fully grasps Peter’s life. She gets to see him fight. Sees the danger he encounters and that he causes. And she’s the only person Peter can really talk to when on a mission. How sad is it that the only person Peter feels he can fully console with isn’t even a real person?

“Are we going on rounds tonight?” she asks, very matter-of-factly.

Peter pauses. “Maybe,” he says, trying to pass off his statement as coy. She’s not real, so Peter has no way of knowing if she bought it. 

Peter flips the light off to the bathroom and joins Tony in the living room again. During the time that Peter was in the bathroom— _how long had Peter been in there just looking at himself—_ Tony’s gotten dressed in his own Iron-Man suit. The red of the suit glimmers under the bright overhead lights. “You ready?” Tony asks.

“Ready to try,” Peter admits. They turn, now facing the dilemma between the stairs and the elevator. Anxiety spikes. The world starts to get hazy. He can’t get in the elevator. Not after what happened. Not after what Obadiah Stane did and said in there. The memories flair back. “I can’t…” Peter manages when he notices that Tony is looking at the elevator.

“We can take the stairs,” Tony reassures.

Peter knows Tony means it. But the very top of the tower is another fifteen flights. “No. I’ll just meet you up there.”

“Peter—”

Anger flairs. Misplaced, yes, but anger nonetheless. “ _I’ll meet you up there,”_ he seethes. “Just go.” Peter doesn’t wait for Tony to say anything—and he knows that after that outburst Tony wouldn’t dare follow him out of respect for Peter’s own emotions. He runs up the flight of stairs, his overactive emotions driving him forward in place of real energy. Peter’s at the roof of the tower in a matter of seconds. Tony is already there, looking down at the streets below.

If Peter hadn’t been dressed in the Spider-Man suit and hadn’t been trying to confront something that’s been causing inner turmoil, Peter would have to admit that the view from up top is _beautiful._ It is a perfect sight of Manhattan, including the Empire State Building that absolutely glows in the night. And a perfect view of the East River. Moonlight shimmers off the body of water, as though this is a painting designed to create the most idealistic image of what Manhattan looks like.

Peter takes a second to enjoy the view and remind himself of how the beautiful this place can really be, before snapping back to reality by joining Tony Stark at the edge of the roof. It’s high. _Really_ high. It’s not like Peter hasn’t jumped off the side of the Tower, only to swing through the streets like it’s as simple as walking. But it’s been a few weeks since Peter has even dared to jump off a two-story building. This is beyond daunting. This is _crippling_ to the point of where Peter feels himself getting light-headed. He staggers for a second and takes a massive step away from the ledge. 

Tony sees the hesitation in Peter’s movement. “We can go somewhere lower,” Tony offers. “We’re more than thirty stories up. You don’t have to start here—”

“No,” Peter snaps. “I can do this.”

That was prideful bullshit. He used to be so unafraid and thrill-seeking, and it’s like all those traits that were enhanced by the spider venom to keep Peter’s fear in check have disappeared because of what Obadiah Stane did. The voice in the back of Peter’s mind is screaming. _Jump off the goddamn ledge._ Peter looks down at the ground below him, swallowing back the feeling of bile as it rises in his throat. _You’ve done this before. You’ve taught yourself how to perfect swinging from building to building. Stop being a coward. Jump off the ledge._

Feeling a surge of determination (which an overly positive word because it’s not determination, it’s just his own shame that Peter’s trying to beat down by doing something this reckless), Peter takes a closer step. He stops, just shy of the edge of the Avenger’s Tower. He stares down to the road below him. It’s much later than Tony and Peter had intended to go on rounds, probably nearing 10:30 rather than 9:00, but this is Manhattan, New York on a Friday. There are people everywhere. Taxis and cars are still trudging along the road. The restaurants and bars are still open. And there are plenty of people. Walking. Drinking. _Living._ People will see Spider-Man and point and stare and question— _and Peter can feel himself getting in his head again._

Quickly, his eyes drift to himself, taking in the Spider-Man suit, the gleaming red and blue suit that Peter had once thought was the perfect gift from Tony Stark. His eyes fall to the web shooters. The cartridges are full, and he’s spent a lot of his free time just verifying the shooters’ aim and accuracy, so he knows they’ll work perfectly. And Tony Stark is right beside him, there to hold his hand and make sure that Peter doesn’t fall to his death. There shouldn’t be _anything_ stopping Peter right now, but he can’t find it in himself to swing forward.

Whatever confidence Peter has in his abilities as Spider-Man are gone. He steps away from the ledge for the second. He doesn’t have the will to jump off. To be free. To fly in his own personal sense.

“Not tonight?” Tony asks over the thick of Peter’s thoughts. There’s no judgement. At least, none that Peter can find and he hates to admit that he’s looking for it.

Peter doesn’t say anything. _Fly._ His body is screaming for him to move. He can remember what it feels like to swing through the night, moving so fast he can feel his eyes tear up as the wind hits his face beneath the mask. He remembers the adrenaline rush. The freedom and strength of his own body carrying himself through the busy streets of Queens. The excitement from the people who see him below. He remembered all of it—and missed all of it. _Fly!_

Peter backs away, closer to the door leading back to the Tower than he is the edge of the building. _The police will have to make do without Spider-Man. Again._ Peter nods, grateful for the mask that keeps his own look of disgust hidden from Tony’s view. “Not tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Brief overview how this story fits into the MCU if it wasn't clear: Obadiah Stane is the "villain" in this story, meaning that the events of Iron-Man 1 (besides Tony becoming Iron-Man) did not happen. Civil War and the Sokovia Accords never excited, but Spider-Man: Homecoming did happen. Hopefully this makes sense!


End file.
